Shelter From the Rain
by 0Warrior0Maiden0
Summary: It happened so suddenly; overnight, the world as we knew it; was gone. "Check 'er for bites, I don't fancy waking up in the night to find her chewin' on my brains." The zombie apocalypse, can Bella ever make it on her own? AU AH Canon pairings.
1. Prologue

**Hello everyone! Long time no see.  
Tthe inspiration for this story hit me when I was watching TV and preparing some sheep fleece to spin it into yarn, my flatmate came in watched for a bit, then announced that when the Zombie Apocalypse came, he wanted me on his team. The story has been rattling around in me head ever since. BTW, if the zombie apocalypse does hit, this is my plan. My writing is always character lead, so I'm really hoping Bella survives, at this point I don't know any more than you do. **

**Bella will have all of my knowledge and skills, but will remain in character. Well, that's enough from me, without further ado:**

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It happened so suddenly; overnight, the world as we knew it; was gone.

I'd gone to bed the night before, calling goodnight to my father and getting little more than a grunt in return, most of his attention being on whatever sport was on the TV. I went through my nightly routine and settled into bed with my worn copy of Wuthering Heights.

"Bells? I've been called into the station, don't wait up." The call came up the stairs.  
"Okay Dad, be careful!"  
"Always am."

That was the last conversation I had with Charlie, when I came downstairs in the morning he was different. He was standing listlessly in the middle of the kitchen; skin an alarming, pale grey colour, eyes glazed.  
"Dad, are you okay?"  
His head snapped up and the eyes faced me, I froze. The eyes, those eyes, I'll never forget, they still haunt my nightmares, terrible, dead eyes; staring, burning, hungry.  
He lurched towards me, arms reaching, grabbing. I cowered away from him.  
"Dad?" My voice was small, shaking. I was so scared. "Dad, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer, he just came closer, his steps uneven as he crossed the kitchen towards me. He didn't seem to have very good control over his motor functions. His hands grabbed at me again, though he still wasn't close enough to reach, I backed out into the hall.

"Da… dad, this isn't funny!"

"aaurrghh.."

His mouth was hanging open, the sound formed no words, but it communicated all the same. It held the same message as the eyes; hunger. He was hunting me.

I turned and ran, out the front door and across the lawn to my rusty red truck. I wrenched the door open, threw myself inside and slammed the door shut behind me. Shoving the key into the ignition and praying it would start. The engine roared to life and I slammed my foot on the accelerator, pulling out of the driveway and off down the street, no idea where I was heading. I was just running.

As my heart rate calmed and my speed slowed to something that didn't make the ancient beast I was driving shake alarmingly, the sound of the radio filtered through my consciousness.

"…must stay inside their homes, if you know anyone who's been bitten you must not approach them. This is no joke, no nightmare, no stupid zombie movie; it's real. The zombie apocalypse. It's widespread across the US, and reports are filtering in that this is happening in other parts of the world as well. The government has given no explanation, only stated that there is a military operation underway and that people should stay in their homes and wait for further notice. I repeat: everyone should stay in thei-"

I turned it off.

Charlie was a zombie. My dad was a zombie. My dad had tried to eat my brains.

Crap.


	2. Chapter 1

Okay, stay calm. Think. They said to remain in your home, but obviously I can't go back there, there's a zombie in the kitchen. I also can't go to anyone else's house; they'd be rightly scared of someone trying to get in, and I don't know if they're zombies either.

No, I'm on my own.

So, looks like I'm camping in my truck, out of town, away from people who may or may not want to eat my brains. First stop, Newton's. I pull a U-turn, there's no one else on the roads, Forks looks like a ghost town. If I can get everything I need and get out of here quickly, I might get away without seeing anymore zombies.

I pull up right next to the door and get out, leaving the engine running. The door is not locked, I enter cautiously; the door should have been locked. There's no one in sight, so I creep inside, keeping my ears open. When Charlie was lumbering towards me in the kitchen, he had poor motor control; hopefully all zombies will have this problem. Even I could outrun them then, so long as there aren't too many.

I reach the camping section without incident and start grabbing supplies. The little silver packets of Army rations, those little hand-warmer thingies, a four season sleeping bag and thermal roll mat, I drag it all out to the truck and throw it in the back. The coast is still clear, but there's a puddle of water in the back of the truck, I head back into Newton's. I grab two ground sheets and a small tent, then I get some spray-on waterproofing; I've had enough complaints from customers to know that these tents don't stay waterproof for long. I take another trip out to the truck, keeping a wary eye out while I spread one of the groundsheets out in the back of the truck.

Another trip into the shop, I head for the clothing section, grabbing hiking boots like the ones I have at home, I'll have to wear them in, but at least I know they'll fit. I also get a couple of pairs of hiking trousers, insect repellent long sleeve tops and a warm coat. Out at the truck the street is still deserted, but I'm getting nervous, so I hurry back into the shop. Three pen knives, a torch and extra batteries find their way into my pockets, and then I approach the back room with caution. I want more rations, a firearm and ammo if I can get them, and a gas stove and more gas canisters, but they're all stored in the back, behind the closed door that could be hiding a member of the undead.

I retrieve the torch from my pocket, it's heavy, with a long metal handle, I chose this one because it looked like it could double as a weapon if need be. The lights are off in the back, and I debate turning them on, or just using the torch, but decide against it, it would give away my position. Some light filters in through the window in the door I entered by, just enough to see by.

There's no sound, but I hurry to where the keys are stored for the gun safe, unlocking the cage and grabbing a break barrel air rifle, two air pistols, some spare magazines, a box of gas canisters and a box of pellets. Air weapons aren't as powerful as guns, but they're quieter, lighter to carry, and they should get the job done just fine. I load one of the pistols and turn to face the room.

Had I heard something?

I freeze. Listening. Silence.

Pistol loaded I head back into the room, moving cautiously, listening intently. I grab the stove I wanted and a box of gas canisters. It's all I can carry, so I run it out to the truck. The street is still empty, but I dart back inside. I grab a Trangia and a couple of bottles of spirits along with a large water container, they go out to the truck before I approach the back room one more time.

Heart beating furiously, pistol gripped tightly in one hand, metal handled torch in the other I push the door open, and listen; silence. I head quickly for the rations and grab another box of hand warmers while I'm at it, then head for the exit.

There's a shadow at the door, I freeze. I know that step, that lurching gait. I crouch, placing the boxes on my foot, so I'd be able to pick them up again more easily, and fish the pistol from my pocket, releasing the safety as I bring it up in front of me. I rest my elbows on the box, using both hands to steady the pistol, aiming for the silhouette against the door. The trigger makes a click when I pull it, the pellet whizzing out of the weapon and making a nauseating crack and squelch as it finds its mark. The zombie falls.

So, the movies got this right at least, shoot 'em in the head and they die. Good. I cock the pistol, moving a new pellet into position, and then reengage the safety before returning it to my pocket. I pick up my boxes, still listening carefully in case there are any more of them, and give the zombie a wide berth as I edge around it to the door. It does not move.

That was everything, or at least, everything I could think of or was willing to risk. I scrambled back into the truck and high-tailed it out of there. Next stop, supermarket.

I considered stopping at the supermarket, people in films always do, and it usually works; until the electricity goes off, and the food goes off, and the zombies or an infected person gets in, and then the people in the films all die. Maybe not such a great plan after all.

There where people at the supermarket, not many, and they looked like humans, panic buying. Their eyes darting everywhere, wide with fear. I pulled in as close as I could get without blocking anyone in; no one had bothered to park properly. I left the engine running again, grabbing a trolley this time, fewer trips would be better.

I felt safer here, more eyes to keep lookout. I ran around the store, competing with other people to grab food before it was all gone. Mrs Stanley grabbed the last of the noodles as I got there; she glared at me, as if daring me to challenge her for them. I turned, getting pasta and rice instead. A big box of salt, and another of curry powder, spices were used in medieval times to disguise the flavour of gone off food, I could use them now for the same purpose. I grabbed come stock cubes for similar reasons. A few bags of lentils and pulses went into the trolley before I got to the nearly empty tins aisle. I managed to score a multipack of baked beans, two tins of plum tomatoes, six tins of pineapple slices and a tin of blueberries.

I remembered to get a big pack of toilet paper, some shampoo, dish soap undergarments and a first aid kit, and then headed back into the fray to fight over the food. Three bags of flour and a pot of bicarbonate of soda so I'd be able to make damper bread, if I could ever light a fire. Butter, milk, eggs and other perishables; the fresh food wouldn't last long, but it'd be nice while it did last.

I grabbed a chopping board, knife set and a complete crockery set before heading back out to the truck. I pretty much threw things from the trolley into the back of the truck, pulling the second ground sheet over the lot and weighing down the edges with the tins and other things that wouldn't be damaged by getting wet. I took the air rifle and a tin of pellets with me as I ran back to the cab and pulled away. Tyler's van pulling into the space I'd left within seconds.

The roads were getting busier, people heading to and fro, speeding and in some cases losing control. Charlie wasn't there to stop them, to give them a ticket. He would never pull anyone over again. A sob escaped be, but I swallowed hard; it wasn't time to fall apart yet, I still had things to get.

The world was growing blurry from the tears as I pulled into the gas station, but I swiped them away roughly and grabbed the air pistol from my pocket, swiftly dispatching the two zombies who were shuffling across the forecourt towards me. There was no one else around, so I left the truck, still running and jammed the petrol hose into the tank; I left it running while I headed to the shop. I pulled two Jerry cans over to pumps and started them filling then headed back to the shop. There was barbeque lighter fluid and lighters. It was never sunny enough for a barbeque in Forks, but the petrol garage sold them anyway so I stocked up, and got a stack of the disposable barbeques too. Then I grabbed a shovel from a display by the door and headed back to the truck.

The Jerry cans were almost too full for me to lift, so I shut them off and hauled them into the back of the truck. The tank was full on the truck so I was all set.

I drove away, out of Forks, the town I'd lived in all my life, into the unknown.

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**Yeah, I probably wouldn't go on my own, especially if I was as clumsy as Bella. Let's hope she doesn't break a leg or something. Like I said before, the story is as it is, I just right it down.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi! I'd like to apologise for any gramatical errors you may find, this has been proof read, but I'm not as perfect as I'd like to believe I am, so there may be some errors.**

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I was driving east, I knew if I went west I'd hit the coast, my chances are probably better in the mountains. I've no idea if there'll be fewer zombies further inland, but at least I won't end up trapped between the ocean and the undead.

I drove for about two hours before I turned off the road onto an unmarked track, I've no idea what's down here, but I'm hoping for a hunting cabin. Somewhere with a generator would be nice and running water too.

The road was bumpy, two tire tracks through the grass with the forest leaning in overhead and bordered by brambles. It doesn't go straight, but winds its way through the forest, so within minutes I'm out of sight of the road.

After a while the track opens up into a grassy area. There's room to turn a vehicle, and a foot trail leading off into the woods, but nothing else. I turn the truck around and head back to the road. There was nothing wrong with the spot that I could tell; it was good for what it was. Out of the way and surrounded by brambles on all sides, effectively a fortified camping spot, a main entrance to the road and a back door into the woods, which would need thorough exploration if I were to decide to stay there. Hopefully there would be a stream nearby for water, and the brambles would provide berries in late summer. I was still holding out hope for finding a hunting cabin, but I'd keep this spot in mind as a plan B. Assuming I could ever find it again that is. I took a good look around as I re-joined the main road, there was a tree struck by lightning not far from the turn off, I committed it to memory as I headed onwards.

It was about half an hour later I found another turn off, and this time I'd struck gold. It was further from the road, so far I almost gave up and turned back, but eventually I came out into a small clearing. A little log cabin stood off to one side, a garage joined onto the side of the house, hopefully with internal access, and an iron handled pump stood by the front door with a bucket under the spout. So it might not have running water, but it did have a guaranteed clean water supply.

I pulled up and parked, turning the engine off. I sat still listening to the quiet. But the forest was never really quiet; there was the wind in the trees, and birds chirping, as if the world hadn't ended.

I opened the door and jumped out, my feet slipping on the grass and I held on to the door as I fell, it swung towards me and whacked me painfully in the thigh, I let go and landed on my rear in the damp grass.

Well, that was painful, but the timing could have been worse, at least there aren't any zombies after me right this second. With that reminder I got up and leaned back into the truck, fetching out the pistol and slipping the safety off. I headed for the house.

There was no point in trying to be stealthy; my truck would have announced my presence to anyone with ears. I tried the front door, locked, and then made a circuit of the cabin, peering in through windows. I couldn't see much passed the lace curtains though.

The cabin was single story, but larger than it had first appeared. It was very traditional looking, with red paint on the window frames and external doors. There was a back door, also locked, and two bathroom windows. A complete circuit of the house indicated no inhabitants, and no easy way in. I climbed back onto the porch and sat on the swing seat, staring at the forest and the little potted plants around the porch, trying to think of a way in.

I didn't want to break in, but I'm not that great at picking locks, I can manage the basic "My Secret Diary" padlock, but what girl hasn't lost the keys and discovered that a hair pin works just as well? Charlie always kept a spare key over the door; maybe these people did the same. I put the safety on, checked that it was very secure and there was no way it could just slip off, and shoved the pistol into the back of my waistband. Then I started a thorough search of the porch area, and eventually came up trumps inside the birdhouse nailed to the corner of the cabin. The key fit the door and I retrieved the pistol before pushing it open and slipping inside.

The hallway extended all the way through the house, ending with a glass panelled door which appeared to lead to a boot room by the back door. Doors opened to the left and right of the passageway, all shut. There was a small sideboard by the door, with a bowl of pot pouri and a torch, there was also a coat rack, but that was the only furniture. The walls were a pale green and decorated with paintings of the forest and family photos which I didn't stop to inspect, a green patterned rug ran the length of the hall, covering the dark wooden boards.

The first door to the left opened to reveal a good sized kitchen dining room, the wooden kitchen units and table and the red Aga blending perfectly with the theme of the house. There were two doors on the far side of the room, and I crossed the stone flagged floor towards them cautiously. The first opened into the garage, which had plenty of space for my truck and another vehicle besides. There where benches around the edge of the room, filled with tools and a generator under the bench by the door.

The second door opened onto a set of steps descending into darkness behind the garage. A smell of cool earth rose up and I fetched the torch from the table by the front door before climbing warily down. The stairs doubled back on themselves, and ended in a small subterranean storage cupboard, as far as I could tell. There were shelves along two walls, and a well-stocked wine rack along a third. A copper stood in the middle of the floor, next to a drain, which didn't seem to be very effective, judging by the water stains around it. The cellar walls and floor where concrete and the damp earthy smell seemed to be coming from the drain, I stayed only long enough to confirm that there was no-one there before retreating to the warmth of the house above.

Returning the torch to the table by the front door, I opened the first door on the right-hand side of the passageway. A large comfortable sitting room was revealed, a few hunting trophies decorated the walls, and there was a small stone fireplace against an internal wall. Candles and photos lined the mantelpiece and a coffee table sat surrounded by chesterfield sofas, a varied collection of board games and jigsaw puzzles stored beneath it. There where bookcases and comfy looking armchairs by the windows and a pair of large wicker baskets filled with fleece, yarn and half-finished knitting projects stood next to a Saxony spinning wheel by one of the windows. Another wicker basket stood by the fireplace, this one filled with logs, there had been another by the Aga, and I had passed a wood stack outside as well. The room was deserted, so I moved on.

The second room to the right of the passage was a bathroom. There were no taps, and no toilet, but a large bathtub sat in front of another fireplace, the match of the one from the sitting room, a bucket stood next to the tub and candles lined the mantelpiece, but thankfully no photos.

The third room had a toilet, and a basin. The toilet was a regular flushing loo, but the basin had no running water, there was a pitcher to fill it and a stack of fluffy white towels beside it. I lifted the lid to inspect the loo, it was clean, and it had been a while since anyone had been here, judging by the lowered water level, but it did seem to be getting a water supply from somewhere.

The rest of the rooms were all bedrooms, four rooms, two had double beds and two where twins. All decorated in pale colours, with a chest of drawers and a wardrobe in each room. The wooden floorboards all covered with rag rugs in bright cheery colours, the unmade beds covered in crochet afghans.

Having cleared the house, I headed back outside to check the surrounding woods. It was about two in the afternoon at this point, and my stomach was starting to grumble loudly, but hungry was better than dead, and I searched the forest for some distance in every direction, finding nothing of any note, before heading back to the cabin. I moved my truck into the garage, having discovered a complete set of keys hanging on a hook in the garage, and set about unpacking.

The supplies I discovered in the kitchen and cellar, coupled with the supplies I had brought with me would last for a good long time. There where tins of meat and fish, among other things on the shelves in the cellar, and I added my small offering of beans, tomatoes, pineapple and blueberries to their ranks. The perishables went down into the cellar too. Meat and vegetables, dairy produce; there had been plenty to choose from, the good people of Forks weren't interested in those things. There were also many jars of chutneys, jams and marmalades; most without labels. There were jars of pasta sauces and what looked like a home brew kit.

Up in the kitchen, I found a well-stocked spice rack and plenty of pots, pans, crockery and cutlery. There was baking supplies and bags of rice and pasta. There were no electric kitchen gadgets, no fridge or freezer. There was a light fitting in the middle of the room, but also a multitude of candles spread around the room. There had been light fittings in the other rooms too, but I suspected the old generator out in the garage wasn't up to much, since there was oil lamps hung from brackets on the walls too.

I couldn't find any sheets for the beds, presumably the family who seemed to use this as a holiday home took them home to wash in a machine, rather than use the copper in the cellar. I took the sleeping bag I'd acquired from Newton's and spread it over one of the twin beds in the bedroom next to the kitchen, hopefully that room would get some warmth through the wall during winter.

The rest of the camping gear got re-organised in the back of the truck; I wouldn't need it staying here, but if I ever had to leave it'd be better not to have to take too long to pack. A search for matches yielded one small pack in every room; I left those where I found them, a larger pack in the kitchen and a steel and flint in the garage. Add those to the lighters I'd acquired at the petrol station and I'd be worrying about running out of candles before I had to worry about how to light them.

The Jerry cans contained diesel for the truck, and the generator probably took petrol, so I left the two cans in the truck, using their weight to hold down the ground sheets. The water container however got taken out front and filled from the pump, before I lugged it into the kitchen and hefted it up onto the counter. There was a kitchen sink, but there were no taps, the waste pipe going straight out through the wall to water the plants. Then I fetched some pork and vegetables from the cellar and prepared a casserole. I stopped and examined the Aga for a bit. There was a fire box with a wooden door, so you could see the fire burning, or not burning, and three ovens. I put together another casserole and a curry and got a pan of rice and one of pasta to cook on the stove top; if I'm going to light this thing and make smoke, I'm going to get the most use out of it that I can so I don't have to light it often.

It took an age to heat up, but there was thankfully only a little smoke from the chimney at first, which quickly disappeared, and then you couldn't tell from the outside that it was burning at all. No smoke signals telling the zombies "Here I am!" I munched on a salad while I waited for the food to cook, and explored the woods a little more.

There was a water tank fed by rainwater off the roof, which was presumably how the toilet flushed, and a green lidded plastic tank sunk into the ground by that side of the house, I hadn't taken much notice before, but it must be some sort of sewerage system. There was also a barbeque and a tire swing in the back garden, though the grass was so long it was debatable whether to call it a garden or a meadow. Wild flowers in white, yellow and purple were thick amongst the grass, it was beautiful, but had definitely re-claimed the barbeque.

I headed back inside to feed the stove another log and check on the food. It would be a while yet, so I set about making a more thorough inventory of what I had, and what I wanted for. There was plenty of food, and I had washing up liquid, but no soap, toothpaste or shampoo. I found new toothbrushes in the cupboard under the wash hand basin in the toilet room, but there were no bed sheets. There was no washing machine and no running water, no heating system besides the open fires and the cooker, no fridge or freezer, no microwave to reheat food. I could live here, certainly, but it would be a bit of a shock to the system after being so used to modern comforts. The most inconvenient thing would be that I had only the clothes I was wearing and what I had acquired from Newton's, which did not include any clean underwear.

When the food was done I ate a bowl of pasta and pork casserole, and then headed to bed, without taking a shower, or brushing my teeth.

I thought of Charlie, and cried myself to sleep that night.


	4. Chapter 3

**AN, to those of you who noticed that my wood buring Aga had a wooden door, well spotted, I was testing you, it should be glass.**

I awoke to the familiar sound of rain tapping against the window, I kept my eyes shut at first, trying to believe that it was all just a nightmare, I'd open my eyes and be back in my room at home, with Charlie downstairs in the kitchen.

I opened my eyes. I wasn't at home, I was in the little log cabin in the woods, a hundred miles from nowhere with no clean underwear.

I tried not to think about Charlie, it was just a bit too painful.

I wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and ended up on the floor, legs still twisted in the dratted bag. After a bit more kicking I was finally free and I stood up, grateful for the thick rag rug on the floor that had softened my landing. I eyed the clothes from yesterday with mild disgust, I did not want to have to wear dirty clothes but I didn't really have much of a choice.

The jeans and t-shirt weren't too bad, but the dirty socks and panties were decidedly unpleasant. I went to the toilet room to take care of business then decided that my number one priority was to get some new panties from somewhere. I wasn't going back to town to get some, and there weren't any here, commando wasn't an option, I'd just end up with dirty trousers, so I'd have to get creative. I headed into the sitting room, to the baskets I'd seen the day before. I dug through them to find some crochet cotton and a hook, I had to rip out half a doily, but doilies weren't as useful as panties, so I felt no guilt. I sat in one of the comfortable chairs by the windows and set to work. Once I was done with these I'd be making socks.

There was half a sock in one of the baskets though, so that would be a nice quick project. The rain tickled down the window pane and little else moved. The house was silent and the damp forest was deserted. It was just me and my crochet and thoughts of Grandma Marie who'd taught me to knit and crochet. I wondered what she'd have thought of me crocheting panties.

The morning passed away until the silence was broken by my stomach, so I picked up my work and went through to the kitchen, serving out a portion of rice and curry onto a metal plate and heating it on the camping stove. Looking at the quantity of food I'd made the night before and considering the lack of a fridge, I was going to have to find some way of keeping food chilled.

An ice box ought to do it. I'd have to wait for winter to get the ice, it was July at the moment, but the meadow at the back of the house would give me straw, if there was enough dry weather. I'd read Farmer's Boy by Laura Ingles Wilder, they'd kept a shed full of ice all through the summer by insulating it with straw. I'd fix something up when the time came, but for now, I'd just have to make sure I ate things before they went off.

After eating and washing my plate and cutlery I went back into the sitting room to continue working while there was still light to see by. I sat for another hour or two until I had something that would work as panties. They resembled a thong in that there was only as much material as was absolutely necessary, but without there being so little that it would end up giving me a wedgy.

I got up at this point and walked over to the social area, the fireplace with its sofas and coffee table. I had a quick look through the games, there was a pack of cards, but everything else needed more than one player. I turned my attention to the pictures on the mantelpiece, wondering who it was who gathered around the fire to play cluedo, monopoly and mousetrap.

There were prom photos of a beautiful tall blonde and her dimpled smiling boyfriend. They looked like the stereotypical football player and cheerleader couple. They smiled blandly at the camera, as if they were only posing for the sake of the photographer and really just wanted to leave already so they could spike the punch before heading out to whatever after party all the cool kids were going to. There were school photos of the same two and of three others, two boys and a girl. One of the boys was tall and blonde, bearing a great resemblance to the cheerleader the other had a messy mop of reddish brown hair and wore braces and thick rimmed glasses, he looked miserable. The girl was smiling brightly, she had short black hair and a nose that turned up a little at the end.

There were also plenty of candids; Christmasses and birthday parties, summer holidays and just everyday life, as far as I could tell. The same five kids, I call them kids but they looked about the same age as me in the more recent photos, and two adults. The father looked familiar, I'd seen him somewhere before I was certain, but I couldn't quite place him.

The parents both looked too young to be the birthparents to a brood of teenagers, so I assumed that these were adopted. Certainly none of the photos went back further than a few years, and the older Christmas photos had fewer people in them, the little dark haired girl and the dimpled football player were missing up until a couple of years ago, and the two blondes only appeared a year or two before that. The red head boy had apparently been with the family since he was about 10 years old and there were plenty of awkward photos of him, with his braces and glasses, all long limbs and acne.

The mother was knitting in a couple of the photos and I spotted a few hand knitted jumpers scattered through the photos, not helping the red head's case any. The quality of the hand knits increased chronologically through the photos as well, and the frequency decreased, as she had more people to knit for, though everyone wore one in every Christmas photo. The mother was classically elegant, with wavy caramel coloured hair and a gentle smile, a black and white photo of her could have been from fifty years ago and she would not have looked out of place.

The father was tall, handsome and blonde, and managed to pull off even the ugliest of the Christmas jumpers with effortless style. I was sure I had seen him before, met him somewhere.

It didn't matter, even if I was going to stay in his cabin, I probably wouldn't see him again. Chances were they were all already dead, this beautiful smiling family.

I returned to my seat by the window and picked up the half sock on the double pointed needles, it was a simple pattern, worked cuff down with the start of a short row heel done in a variated vibrant purple. If I had to guess I'd say it was meant for the black haired girl, she had a vibrant wardrobe in the photos. It was a good fit for me though, so I continued where Martha had left off. I don't know her name, so I'm going to call her Martha, it means "lady of the house" and it seemed to fit the classical beauty in the pictures.

I'd best name all these people, since their pictures may well be the only company I'll have for a while. The little black haired girl whose sock I was pinching I would name Vanellope, for the character from Wreck it Ralph that she so resembled. The cheerleader could only be Barbie and the football player therefore became Ken.

A photo from a school production of Peter Pan earned the red head the name Peter and a photo from Halloween of the family in costume gave the tall blonde boy the nickname Woody for his cowboy costume and the father was dubbed The Doctor for a very accurate costume of the 4th Doctor, presumably Martha had knitted him the scarf.

When the light began to fade I had all but the toe of Vanellope's sock, so I left it there while I went to fetch my supper, then I headed off to bed, adding nightwear to my list of things to make.

Another day dawned grey and raining, nothing unusual there. The cabin was silent except for the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and windows. I managed to get out of bed with a little more grace this morning and got dressed, grimacing as I pulled on the same socks for the third day in a row.

I had a banana for breakfast and considered the benefits of fruit cake over eating them fresh. I decided to make cake next time I had to light the Aga and retreated to my window seat to knit.

I finished the first sock and dug through the yarn basket to find the matching ball to make the second sock, casting on and knitting a couple of inches before stopping for lunch. Reheated stew and a glass of water served as lunch and the rest of the second sock was completed that afternoon.

I also assessed the design of the crochet panties I was wearing. They were serviceable, but had a tendancy to fall down, given I had no elastic to sew into them. The design for the next pair therefore included ribbing around the top to help with this and I worked on those until the light failed.

I heated up the last of the curry and rice, ate it and headed to bed.

* * *

There was no rain on the third day and the sound of bird song could be faintly heard through the windows. I mixed up a batch of deodorant, a simple recipe of coconut oil, bicarbonate of soda and ground arrowroot powder, simple but effective. The rest of that day passed much as the others had. I finished the last of the pork casserole and had only one portion of the chicken left. I would have to cook again tomorrow. The rain started up again around midday.

* * *

The fourth morning was raining and the cabin was chillier than it had been, though only by a degree or two. I started the Aga after lunch and prepared another stew, this one with dumplings and mixed up a banana cake and a batch of cookies. It gave me a break from the knitting and crochet, my fingers had been starting to cramp. I also started a daily log.

_Day 4: raining, temperature not as warm as it was.  
Cooked beef stew with dumplings, banana cake and chocolate chip cookies. Finished knitting a red sock._

* * *

_Day 5: drizzle. Finished the second red sock, cast on for a silk nightgown. Martha has some lovely yarns in her collection._

The silk laceweight yarn was a pale pink colour and had been buried at the very bottom of the basket. One of the skeins had been used to make some pretty lace, but a pile of crinkled yarn indicated that frustration was the reason it had been banished to the furthest corner of the basket. I giggled a little at that and asked Martha what she had been trying to make. I got no reply.

* * *

_Day 6: dry but overcast, the nightgown continues, but I'm getting bored and have started a third pair of panties, the bread I brought with me has gone mouldy, I will have to make some fresh._

The third pair used a foundation treble row as the waist band, and would hopefully solve the issue I was still having with elasticity. The bread wasn't so bad really, I could just pick off the blue bits, but it was almost certainly a herald of worse to come.

* * *

_Day 7: dry and overcast, slightly warmer, finished the panties, still working on the nightgown, can't find anymore sock yarn. I've started soaking dried fruit in tea to make Bara Brith tomorrow when I light the Aga._

I was considering having a go at the spinning wheel, there was plenty of roving and sock yarn was only thin, I could make miles of it. The only problem being that I'd probably end up with miles of lumpy uneven sock yarn.

* * *

_Day 8; dry and overcast, but I don't think it will rain, I've done a load of washing, heating the water on the Aga when I made pasta bake, bread and the bara brith. _

I've started having conversations with them, the family who'll probably never come back here. Pretending that they adopted me too, now that Charlie was… gone. It still hurts to think about, but it hurts a little less if I can pretend that The Doctor and Martha are hugging me and letting me cry on their shoulders. Martha and Barbie helped me with the washing, we used baking soda as detergent, it will bleach the clothes in time, but there's nothing else to use.

* * *

_Day 9; raining again, and noticeably cooler. I've made up to the waistline of the nightgown. _

Martha was making a jumper for Peter, who only grimaced and walked away, Vanellope sat with us and I showed her how to make ribbed fabric with slip stitch crochet, so we can make more panties, hopefully these won't fall down all the time.

* * *

_Day 10; rain, nightgown is down to the hips, fourth pair of panties completed. Finished the pasta bake today, will make another and some more stew tomorrow. _

The Doctor and Ken were playing cards as Vanellope, Martha and I sat by the window with our needle work today. Woody came in at one point, looked out into the rain and commented on how the wet weather was good for berries and we should go out looking for some soon. I'm scared to leave the house though, even if the family come with me, I know I'll have to watch my back. They're not real, they won't warn me if there's danger coming.

* * *

_Day 11; dry, but there's tension in the air, I think it'll storm tomorrow. Nightgown is down to midthigh, I will add another inch and bind off. The chicken for the stew smelt funny, I cut it small and covered it with spices to hide the flavour._

Woody watched me today, he didn't say anything, he didn't need to; we both knew I should have been hunting for berries while it wasn't raining. I was too scared, what if someone, or something, comes to the cabin while I'm away? I might lose my sanctuary. I didn't tell Woody that though, he'd only have pointed out that I'd starve in my sanctuary without food.

I know he's right; I'll go as soon as the weather clears again.

**AN  
Anyone else think poor Bella might be going a little stir crazy?**


End file.
